


Siberia

by FlameBlownWhiter, kirenamuln



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: But they always find their way back, Epic, It's a pick your own story, It's slash if you want it to be, Lives ruined and blood shed, M/M, No matter how far, No matter now long, Steve and Bucky will always find each other, Their story is epic, you choose: do they make out or make hot cocoa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameBlownWhiter/pseuds/FlameBlownWhiter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirenamuln/pseuds/kirenamuln
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Siberia hadn’t changed since the last time Steve had been there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siberia

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of an art/fic exchange with [kirenamuln](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kirenamuln/pseuds/kirenamuln)
> 
> More of her art can be found [here](http://thatsgooddeduction.tumblr.com)

Siberia hadn’t changed since the last time Steve had been there. The wind still cut like steel against his exposed flesh and the snow, even on a clear day, blanketed everything – disorienting him, whiting out his vision. The new suit was slightly better in this regard. The high tech polymer kept his body temperature above freezing, unlike the leather original.  Siberia was a wasteland of ice and wind. If Steve had had it his way, he never would have returned. The tundra had seen enough of him during the war, but fate didn’t care what Steve wanted.

Bucky had come back to Siberia.

After months of tracking down the Winter Soldier, from New York to Wichita, from Washington to Louisiana, always one step behind, it was almost a relief to find he had boarded a plane back to Russia. It was like getting to the final chapter of a book. Steve knew he was close, closer than when he had been following him around the United States, and Steve could only think one thing: _Finally_.

He was tracking Bucky now. Steve had gotten a reliable tip about an all-but-abandoned cabin about 10 miles into the northern forest (if you could call it a forest); someone had seen what they thought was firelight shining through the windows. It could had been anything, it was a weak lead no matter what Steve thought, but his heart told him otherwise. It was like there was a string between himself and Bucky and every step closer made the string tighter, pulling them together.

The trees he was passing were little more than black twigs sticking out of the ground; they looked like prison bars. Though depending on which way he was traveling – and which way the wind was blowing – they were just another white object that blended in with everything else. Steve was glad no one else was around, that he’d convinced Sam to stay behind and let him go alone, he’d never live down Captain America walking face first into a tree – twice. Thick snowfall landed on him both times and he was chilled to the bone. Steve was getting desperate for shelter, if he didn’t find Bucky’s cabin soon he’d have to build one out of the snow and rest for the night. At least The Shield on his back kept some of him protected.

He walked for another hour and a half, with nothing but the stark landscape and his own conflicting thoughts to accompany him, before he saw the thin trail of smoke rising steadily over the snow bank.

Steve had almost missed it. The smoke blended in with the whirling flurries, but in a world of white, black and grey, every change in pigment was noticeable – even the smoke; which was slightly darker than the snow, but lighter than the medium grey sky. Steve took off.

He bounded towards the smoke, climbing the snow bank to the ridge, stilling just before the crest where he could see the chimney. He paused there, still under the cover of trees and snow, and looked down at the brown cabin. It was terrible, after all of this, to suddenly feel doubt. Not the doubt that it was Bucky down there - no, of that Steve was certain - but the doubt that he would be welcomed, doubt that even though Bucky had saved him from the Potomac, he still wouldn’t recognize him or welcome his presence. Steve felt his fear like a white hot knife in his heart.

Steve swallowed and shook it off the best he could. He was Captain America, and while that didn’t mean a lot to some people anymore, it meant whole heck of a lot to him.

Steve took that final step, cresting the ridge, and simultaneously heard the click and felt the weight of the pressure pad sink down onto the landmine under him. Steve only had seconds, and without thinking he jumped, tucking his legs as far into his chest as he could, his hands grabbing The Shield from his back, twisting his arms inside, and swinging it around and under him.

The blast hit The Shield with tremendous force, forcing Steve’s arms into his knees painfully, ripping a tendon there.  He flew through the air, towards the cabin, barreling through a few trees on the way before landing flat on his back only a few feet from the house. Steve coughed and moved his legs, quickly checking every bone, and was surprised to find nothing broken. He sat up into a squat, putting his Shield back onto his back, cradling his arm. Steve’s ears were ringing from the explosion, his head dizzy. It wasn’t until he saw the black of Bucky’s boots that he noticed the other man there.

Shocked, Steve stood up. His body and all the training he had screamed at him to go into a defensive position, but he didn’t. He forced himself still, allowed himself to take in the sight of Bucky – no grease makeup, no army get-up, just Bucky. His hair was still long, but he was wearing a large brown down coat and black cargo pants. He looked so normal, so healthy, Steve almost ran to him, desperate to hug his friend, to prove he was real, but he forced himself to stand still. Whatever happened next, it had to be Bucky’s move. Steve had followed him out here and he knew that Bucky could feel him getting closer, knew that Steve was tracking him. Steve still wasn’t sure what Bucky wanted – to kill him or to talk to him. Steve wasn’t going to make that decision for him.

Bucky’s dark eyes looked over him, as if cataloging him, _memorizing_ him. Bucky began to speak, Steve still couldn’t hear him over the ringing, but they’d been able to read each other’s lips since the second grade.

Two words: “I remember.”


End file.
